A rising star of US hip-hop, sound wizard Hi-Tek made his reputation as the producer of acclaimed records by Black Star (a key Rawkus release featuring Mos Def and Talib Kweli) and Common - the "conscious" end of the market. On his own debut LP, the Cincinnati DJ provides the beats and musical backdrop via a seriously wide range of samples, while a dozen guests, including Common and Kweli, rap about matters personal and social. It could have been a dour, dry, head-nodding pabulum for stoners, and yet Hi-Teknology is both inventive and intense. While falling short of the trademark hyper-syncopation of Timbaland or the Neptunes, Hi-Tek (T Cottrell to his publisher) is no stranger to rhythmic experimentation, and he has moved beyond the simple beats of his earlier work towards a bigger, more expansive sound. Harder, too - Where I'm From, a brutal tale of drug-thug life worthy of DMX, would rock the most jaded crowd, while Round & Round, sung by hometown girl Jonell, almost rivals the futuristic R&B of Missy Elliot. Hi-Teknology is well titled - listen to the speaker-shudderingly crisp handclaps on L.T.A.H. (Let's Talk About Her) and you could almost be in the recording studio with the man himself. (PL)

Garlanded with "folk singer of the year" awards after the release of last year's album Sleepless, Kate Rusby now sets out to prove that she is more than just the finest young interpreter of traditional songs in the country. Her last set included a typically understated but emotional treatment of Iris Dement's country weepie Our Town, and the most exquisitely painful tracks here are her version of the Richard Thompson standard Withered and Died and two highly personal, self-written songs of love and loss, Who Will Sing Me Lullabies and My Young Man. Half of the tracks here were written by Rusby herself, or in partnership with her fiddle-player and producer John McCusker, and they fit so easily with the traditional songs that without checking the sleevenotes it's sometimes hard to tell which are which. She's at her best singing a sad or a whimsical narrative song, ancient or modern, in her distinctive conversational style, and the addition here of a super-group of folk musicians adding bass, percussion, whistles, accordion, or even horns to back her guitar-work thankfully doesn't cramp her style. (RD)

Luke Haines Christie Malry's Own Double Entry (Hut) *** £13.99

From the cover of the CD it's clear Luke Haines has an axe to grind. Besuited and surly, he stands holding a blackboard with the legend "Art Will Save The World" written on it. Hmmm. Haines - brains behind the Auteurs, Baader Meinhof and Black Box Recorder - has produced this film soundtrack as another outlet for his cynical view of Britain. Christie Malry's Own Double Entry is the story of a lone terrorist on a mission to cause anarchy on the streets of London. Haines's musical commentary is suitably bleak but scorched with the adrenaline rush of fighting for a cause. As usual, his lyrics are biting, holding a mirror up to contemporary society and sneering at the warped reflection. Discomania has bleeps and voyeurism, while the electioneering How to Hate the Working Classes features Haines singing in a contemptous half-whisper against a gorgeous melody in a love song full of bile. This soundtrack also has its share of instrumentals that reveal Haines' knack for a nice tune, but it's the oddities that reflect him best. In the Bleak Midwinter takes the traditional Christmas hymn and offsets the angelic voices of the Winchester Cathedral Choir with shaky vocals that depart from holy intentions, as Haines announces: "God is dead, I'm king of the world." A menacing version of I Love the Sound of Breaking Glass burns with echo, messy guitars and bully-boy intent, while the full-on dance of Essexmania will have pub regulars throwing their hands in the air with ironic glee. (BC)

Dropped by his major label, and with his once cherubic looks slipping into puffy-faced middle age, Ron Sexsmith is not looking good, either professionally or personally. Blue Boy was produced in Nashville by Steve Earle and Steve Earle's sound-man, and it sounds like it: it's a less considered, more pub-rocky effort than Sexsmith's previous work. This is a worrying development from someone who had previously thrived on subtlety and nuance, rather than beery knockabouts such as Not So Big, the finger-picking Never Been Done and the career nadir that is Keep It in Mind. Lyrically, Sexsmith has grown flabby too: Cheap Hotel turns wife-beating into a cuddly cliche, while Fallen is a perfunctory love song, so lazy that it almost falls asleep on itself. There is occasional cause for hope, however. Parable is vintage Sexsmith, coy and conversational of lyric ("So, let's go back now to this poor loser"), intriguing of tune and giving the rare impression of an interested author. Meanwhile, Miracle in Itself ambles along pleasantly, and Foolproof suggests that the lyrical muse has not wholly deserted him. Even so, the Ron Sexsmith of Secret Heart and Strawberry Blonde is a world away - a much better world. (JA)

Tokyo turntable-meister Krush has built a name in the underground, largely on the strength of his earlier two albums for the once teeth-grindingly trendy Mo' Wax. Nowadays, he's been able to pull in more mainstream names such as the Roots and Brand New Heavy N'Dea Davenport, but like many DJs he has simply got access to too much music to settle on a direction. The first half of Zen is bewilderingly all over the place, skipping from DJ culture to dull grooves, from lame hip-hop to insubstantial abstractions. However, when Krush gives western electro-minimalism an oriental spin, he starts to hit on something. The Davenport-sung With Grace is part-Massive Attack, part-Ryuichi Sakamoto, Endless Railway is wonderfully spooky, and gradually Zen starts to feel more like an adventure in a strange sonic landscape than a graceless trawl through an eclectic record collection. Then again, seven albums in, you'd think he would have learned something about quality control. (DS)